


Aftershave

by CoconutRum



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftershave, Blood Kink, Bottom Will Graham, Choking, Consensual Kink, Knife Play, Light BDSM, M/M, Straight Razors, Top Hannibal Lecter, breath play, light blood play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25668970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoconutRum/pseuds/CoconutRum
Summary: Will is ruffled after a bad day at the lab. Ends up at Hannibal's house to discuss a case.BORING!! Hannibal insists Will get cleaned up.Will can't find a razor. Hannibal steps in to help.Straight razors for the win. Sexual tension like woah. How Sweeney Todd are we here? There is a wee bit of blood play as Hannibal wants to 'taste' Will.Will is completely at Hannibal's mercy as he is literally held naked, 'under the knife' of the questionably mad doctor. And is turned on like he's never been in his life. Hannibal helps ease his...tension.Power dynamics: Will knows Hannibal can kill him....doesn't actually care. Hannibal's ears perk up at the challenge.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 150





	1. Semantecs

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is mutually consensual.
> 
> Straight razors should not be used for anything other than shaving in real life, kids.   
> First Hannigram I've written. Feedback welcome/encouraged.

Will toweled his hair and opened the large medicine cabinet, searching for a razor. Having only used Hannibal’s bathroom on maybe one occasion, he didn’t exactly know his way around. 

Everything was meticulously organized and quite obviously expensive. He shuffled through various soaps, creams, and some rather delicate silver objects he couldn’t name; but assumed they were personal grooming tools of some sort. The man was immaculate. In his self presentation and decor. Even the guest bathroom. Will felt a bit like a dishrag standing there with a fluffy towel wrapped loosely around his waist, hair dripping onto the plush burgundy rug. No razor to be found, the profiler gently closed the medicine cabinet, and reached to re-secure his towel. 

Looking back up into the mirror, his breath hitched as Hannibal’s reflection appeared next to his own as though through telekinesis.The man appeared to be rummaging through a drawer for something. Without his glasses, Will saw Hannibal framed in a bit of a misty halo in the mirror. A smug grin on the doctor’s lips.

“Please excuse the intrusion, Will, the door was open.” Hannibal said matter of factly, as though he didn’t notice the profiler’s lack of clothing. He stood up, stoic as ever, next to Graham.

The smaller man continued to gape at the two of them in the reflection, fumbling for his glasses, with futile efforts as he had left them in the living room. He felt the rug sponging water between his toes. Will made a mental note that the doctor had apologized, but made no effort to leave. He had often questioned Hannibal’s lack of personal space and boundaries with him. He did a quick replay of the evening to determine if he had said or done anything Hannibal may have interpreted as reason to drop formalities of doctor-patient or coworker professionalism. 

The profiler had shown up late for his appointment, on account of a mishap at the lab. Usually, sessions were at Doctor Lecter’s office, but under the circumstances, had instead been rearranged to be at Lecter’s estate. Disheveled and his clothing stained with...nothing he cared to investigate...Will didn’t have a change of clothes at the time of his session. The doctor graciously insisted he clean up before they began, assuring him he had extra clothes in his size. They had also previously arranged a meeting to discuss a current case. Hannibal had no qualms with waiting; remarking it would give him time to prepare dinner and look over his notes. 

Ever the gentleman, Graham thought. Nothing ever ruffled the psychiatrist. Sometimes it was as though Lecter could read the mind of the entire world, as well as predict future occurrences of his own patients. Something about him made the hair on the back of one’s neck prickle, or raise goosebumps on their skin. A mysterious quality that was both inviting and dangerous. Some found him unsettling. It was difficult to tell what the doctor was thinking; even for a seasoned profiler such as Graham. 

“May I help you find something, Will?” Lecter continued, eyeing the cabinet, breaking Will out of his trance like state.

Graham was quite flustered. His psychiatrist was seeing him naked in more than just the metaphorical manner usually designated to their therapy hours. Much to his shame, he wasn’t sure he cared. He even rolled the idea around in his mind for a nano-second, of being physically assessed by the good doctor. His body hummed at the thought of Lecter examining him; analyzing, studying, remarking...touching him...

Something suddenly “clinked” behind him.

All at once he was blushing and looking at his toes. His own jaw snapped shut at the acknowledgement of the fantasy, as though also trying to banish it before he could accidentally verbalize it...or more likely...before Hannibal could pick up on it with his strange sixth sense. 

Perhaps pretending not to notice, the doctor leaned over Will, reaching for a small box on the counter, his chest brushing against his shoulder. A shiver coursed through Will’s body, and he fought to suppress it. Swallowing hard, he focused on breathing. 

Lecter didn’t even glance over, but rather occupied himself with studying the box, reading something on the back. He then procured a small bottle and hand towel, draping the latter over his forearm. Most of Will’s brain was relieved, but another part desperately wanted to lean back into the touch and for the doctor to notice his reaction. 

What the *Hell* was wrong with his brain!?? He wanted affirmation from his shrink that he was craving physical contact? Specifically from him?? Oh this was going to be a complicated session. He was standing more than half naked next to a powerful, magnificent looking man...wait, when did he start finding Hannibal to be magnificent?...That wasn’t his design...

“Will, I think you have a lot on your mind. Let me at least help make you more comfortable.” He stepped towards the doorway and gestured for Will to follow. “Please, come with me.”

It was not a question; it was purposeful, as though he knew Will would follow.

And there it was again, that strange, undeniable magnetic pull. Lecter’s tone was not assuming, or assertive, but there was something irritatingly alluring about the curtness with which he spoke. The clipped Danish accent hovering on the edge of his words. 

As predicted, Graham did as he was told; like an obedient pup.

In a daze, Will began assessing a few aspects of what had led up to his current situation.  
He had been having sessions with Lecter now for maybe seven months. He felt comfortable sharing things about his mind he had never even known were there, and even learned some secrets of Hannibal himself. He’d always admired the man’s material taste in things like fine dress, wine and art. There was a certain quality to him that was purely tempting. 

It was difficult for Will to pinpoint the logic behind his fascination with Hannibal. Perhaps because the man was often so private, even in revealing information about himself. Will knew next to nothing about his family, his childhood or early life. Just footnotes regarding an impressive career as a surgeon and now, a renowned psychiatrist, who moonlighted as a cannibalistic serial killer. 

It was Will’s own lack of caring about the latter that left him dumbfounded at what appeared to be his own lack of self preservation. 

“Humans are naturally curious and drawn towards power and things they don’t understand,” He thought to himself, following Hannibal down the corridor. His mind took note of the grace with which the taller man walked. He had a presence that exuded authority and charisma, with an alarming amount of threat lying just below the surface. He radiated a bracing power both physically and mentally. Suits were tailored just so, to fit his trim form. Hair always artfully disheveled in strategic places; and he carried himself with the posture of royalty. 

Graham’s eyes couldn’t help but notice the pertness of his ass, and length of his legs. Did the man go to a gym? Practice martial arts? He knew he had impressive combat skills, and with an ass like that, he had to have some sort of regimen to...

“Will,” Hannibal was standing at the end of the hallway, gesturing at an open door frame. “Just through here, please.” Always polite, something of a smile played on his lips. Maybe a sneer. One could never tell.

Shaking the thought bubbles from his former design of Hannibal, Graham felt his skin go clammy as he walked into a lavishly vast space that resembled a cross between a masculine sitting room and spa. The floor was some sort of dark, teak wood; two elegant free standing sinks occupied the further third of the room; each adorned with gunmetal tap handles. Between the two sinks was a cushioned bench, upholstered in simple yet refined patterns in dulled silver on charcoal grey. On the other side of the room was a luxurious claw foot tub. Two small plush chairs sat in the center of the room. Even the ceiling was decorated accordingly.

“Why the hell does one person need all of this?” Will thought to himself, taking in the icy elegance. He jumped slightly, feeling Hannibal’s warm hand on the small of his back. A hint of electricity radiated through him at the (intimate?) contact.

Lecter gently guided Will to one of the chairs, which he had placed up against, facing away from a sink. He draped a towel over the edge of the bowl, and stood, stark still, with his arm turned outward, motioning for him to sit.

Graham glanced at the doctor as he sank down into the chair. His own ocean irises were met with deep, quizzical brown. Hannibal’s skin crinkled at his eyes, as though internally laughing at some private joke. Or, for all Will knew, laughing at the fact that there was a completely vulnerable, and very naked profiler seated in his elegant wash room. 

Graham’s mind, always reeling, always analyzing, gathering data...took in that fact for a moment. He was indeed, still quite naked, now seated in an unguarded position; possibly at the mercy of this mercurial god of a man. What’s more...he was thirsting for it to continue! Even though he could not specify what ‘it’ was. He was both quivering with fear, and...anticipation? For what? He and Hannibal were co-workers. Professional partners. Friends. And yet, his nearly bare ass was now gracing an expensive chair in the doctor’s private estate…

“Please excuse my forwardness earlier, Will.” The doctor’s rich voice wafted in through Will’s sub-consciousness, yet again, eloquent as ever. Graham made a note to make more of an effort to keep one foot grounded in the present moment instead of the whirling imagination people knew and sought him out for.

“You were in such a state of shock and disarray when you arrived, I thought it only appropriate to give you some space. That said, and perhaps more pertinent, it is also my habit to be a bit more of a host than necessary when I have guests in my home.”

He stepped behind the sink, placing his hands on Will’s bare shoulders.

“And, as a host, I insist my guests are well tended to.” Hannibal gave the profiler’s skin a playful squeeze with his broad palms, and then, tenderly adding pressure across his upper pectorals, eased Will into a reclined position. Neck arched over the sink bowl; Graham’s throat was now completely exposed. 

Will’s mind was suddenly racing. How could he keep even a toe in the moment, when the level of professionalism was shifting towards oblivion at a staggering pace. 

His brain was throwing sparks in multiple directions. On the one hand, his breathing quickened. He swore he felt his pupils constrict; and noted his mouth going dry. His gaze darted around the room, looking for the nearest exit as his mind replayed the doctor’s recollections of his moonlighting activities as the Chesepeak Ripper.

He heard running water as the older man turned on the tap, and warm steam began rising from the bowl. Hannibal gently lifted Will’s head, placing a fluffed, rolled towel at the base of his neck, carding his hands through the young man’s hair before stepping back for something behind them. 

Graham tried to rationalize his thoughts. He noticed one quadrant of his brain started to ignore the panic, and found himself nearly whining at the sudden gift, then loss of warm touch to his neck. When was the last time anyone touched him outside of a handshake, or professional clap on the back? He wondered if that’s all this was...desperation due to deprivation of contact.  
“I appreciate the flexibility of your schedule, Will,” Lecter continued, soaking a towel in the warm water now filling the bowl. 

Ok, it was the man’s voice too, Will admitted to himself. It had a gravity to it that commanded Will’s attention. He yearned for it; found himself instinctually obeying. Even at work.

Hannibal wrung out the cloth; water droplets falling musically behind Will’s ears. The tap was off, and he became starkly aware of the sound of the doctor’s steady breath; the feel of it barely whispering over his forehead. 

“What do you say we get you cleaned up, and discuss work matters over dinner and a drink?” Hannibal said in a casual tone. 

Before he could respond, Lecter delicately cupped one hand around the entire column of Will’s throat; his thumb just below Will’s ear, and his first two fingers tilting the younger man’s jaw upward, shifting his gaze to him.

He felt Graham’s breathing quicken and his scalene muscles contract against his palm; his pulse point thrum under the pads of his fingers; and part of his own heart both sang and ached at the feeling of the stuttering, fragile ridges of Will’s windpipe.

The profiler swallowed hard again, noticing how his Adam's apple bobbed against Hannibal’s touch.

Both men locked eyes. The corners of Lecter’s lips twitched; his nostrils flared. The doctor shifted Will’s head back and forth, as though assessing the proper angle of light. His grip was firm, but not menacing, as his other hand dragged the warmed towel over Will’s face in cyclical patterns, gently wetting his flesh.

Closing his eyes, the younger man tried to force his body to submit to the delicate motions and let the heated water calm his nerves. He let his brain drift to savoring the physical sensation of Hannibal’s touch. One hand cleansing his face, the other, now at his forehead, repeatedly brushing his tousled hair away from his eyes. As though Hannibal was intentionally soothing him; even...petting him. 

He felt a wide, circular brush painting cool strokes of foam over his neck jawline, the doctor keeping one hand in contact with him at all times. An anchor.

Lecter’s movements were all comforting, calming and intentional. There was no hesitation or quiver to his steady hands as he studied the rhythmic rise and fall of the younger man’s chest. Ever the surgeon. He watched Will’s hands ease their grip on the chair, and the rigidity of his neck subside slightly. The man in his grasp, his willing participation and submission to his touch;   
This was Hannibal’s design.

Graham let his eyes flutter open with a sigh, his breathing calmer, tilting his head to glance at the doctor. The man directed his neck back into its previous arc, Will’s eyes at the ceiling as he felt Hannibal lean in and ghost his mouth over his ear. He hovered, faces nearly touching. A hand pressed to Will’s brow, the taller man reached into his pocket, retrieving what looked like an overly large folded knife. With his thumb, he gave the object a flick, a fragile, metallic chime echoing on the walls. 

Will’s heart rate elevated. His pupils dilated. He felt Lecter holding him in place with just enough pressure to keep his mind on a ragged edge. The suggestion of a threat. 

Slowly, Hannibal hooked his arm across the young man’s chest, pressing a glinting silver blade to the edge of Will’s jaw.

“Straight razors,” he whispered, pinioning the cold steel to Graham’s carotid artery. “A gift set from a...former...patient of mine.” His nose tickled the shell of Will’s ear, his breath warm and close. 

Will felt his cock twitch, and closed his eyes. Mouth hanging open.

Too close. 

“He insisted I break them in...properly.” He felt Hannibal’s lips curl into a grin against his flesh. Oxygen was leaving his brain, flooding downwards; making him dizzy. His life was literally in Hannibal’s hands.

“Unfortunately for him, I had to discontinue our sessions rather abruptly, on account of symantec misinterpretation.” He twisted the blade slightly, letting it nip at the profiler’s throat.

Will’s amygdala was about to short circuit, not being able to discern if fight or flight was the correct response. He sat there, running a corporeal systems scan of his vitals. He felt the blade bite deeper into his flesh ever so slightly, sending a reverberating sting through his body. His brain tried desperately to get self preservation to kick in; to have him bolt; to ebb the blood flow to his cock. 

Hannibal pressed his lips to his patient’s temple, inhaling deeply as he kissed him. 

“Do you trust me, Will?”


	2. Choke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is now at the mercy of Hannibal - Straight razor to his carotid. Sexual tension permeating the room.
> 
> Power dynamic showdown. Will only in a towel....for now.

Hannibal’s face remained brazenly close to Will’s cheek; his eyelashes close enough Graham could feel him blink. The older man’s breath was warm in his ear.

“No,” Will sighed, “I don’t trust you.” 

He didn’t dare move.

The doctor grinned again, then flicked his tongue over the shell of Will’s ear. 

“Smart man,” He whispered, watching Will shudder. 

With his right arm still pressed to Graham’s chest, blade poised, Hannibal stood back up, languidly running his other hand through the brunette’s hair. 

He gave a gentle pull to the hair at the nape of Will’s neck, smirking as the younger man stifled a sigh. Graham’s hips began shifting restlessly; his cock half hard. Hannibal felt a pang in his own dick at the sight of the wiry man before him. Vulnerable in every sense of the word; and yet, much to his amusement, choosing to stay. 

“Trust is a fickle thing, Will,” he said, brown eyes sparkling, holding the younger man’s head in place, “It is multifaceted,”

He began to drag the blade upwards, feeling the anxiety radiate out of his victim’s entire being.

“And fragile.” He concluded.  
Will heard a metallic *shing* sound as the doctor finished the stroke. 

Without hesitation, Hannibal pressed the blade down again, letting it scrape across the young man’s skin. The movements became repetitive as he alternated sides of Will’s face, continuously manipulating the angle as though pulling puppet strings. Seamless; practiced; effortless. 

Graham’s body cycled through a pattern of tension, rigidity, and near sedation. The contrast of the cold blade and Lecter’s firm, warm hand along his face held him in a trance-like state. The sheer notion that at any moment, the man could literally kill him, and make it look like an accident, should have mortified him. But instead, he found himself completely exhilarated by the thought.

Hannibal’s palm squeezed and pushed at his windpipe as he changed the angle again, threatening to cut off his airway. Held in place, tilted to one side, the younger man couldn’t see anything other than the glint of silver and the doctor’s hand guiding the blade within a few inches of his eye. Just as he thought he’d been held there too long, lungs protesting, adrenal glands in overdrive, Hannibal readjusted yet again. Sweet oxygen filled his chest, anxiety dimmed, and his dick painfully tented the towel at his waist. 

Dr. Lecter gently placed the blade’s edge along Will’s cheek bone; Will inhaled, waiting expectantly for the slow drag. 

Instead, he felt Hannibal’s elbow press down at his sternum, his other hand just below his lower jaw, halting his movements. If he tried to bend his head forward, his breath was stopped by the doctor’s fingers. 

The older man held him there, letting the panic sink in. Savoring it. He watched the conflict travel across the young man’s face, seeing the array of emotions. Fear, doubt, stubbornness, desire, lust. The sheen of sweat on his body. 

Hannibal picked up on the scent of the brunette’s musky arousal permeating the air around them, delighting in that familiar warm coil in his own gut..

Salivating, he pressed the blade harder to the willing flesh. 

Graham’s heart was racing, and he felt his cock aching to be touched, seeking friction. 

In agonizingly slow motion, the blade pierced his skin, and he felt a warm, wet line sliding down his face. His stomach churned as his thoughts went awry. He began to tremble; the head of his dick bobbing against the rough towel, eyes clenched shut fighting to remain still. 

“Your body trusts me, Will,” Hannibal’s voice was thick with control and arousal, his own gaze on Graham’s narrow hips. “It’s your mind,” He lifted the blade from the man’s face, “Your stunningly complicated, magnificent mind,” He set the blade down, hovering over his prey; “That doesn’t trust me.”

Graham’s eyes remained shut, his breathing labored. He heard the doctor’s familiar, graceful cadence stepping around the sink to face him. 

The room was warmer, and Will could feel even more heat fluctuating between the two of them. 

His brain was keenly aware of his position. Of Hannibal. Majestic, commanding, alluring...dangerous Hannibal, standing over him. And of himself; naked and bleeding at this man’s mercy. His mind had definitely fantasized about these kinds of situations, but he had never in his wildest dreams thought they would actually manifest. And yet, here he was. 

He frantically tried to gather his manic thoughts, all the while analyzing himself.

‘Why is a threat to my life so attractive? I am completely and inescapably desperate to be used! I am sitting here in a towel and want nothing more than for my psychiatrist...my **psychiatrist!!** to dominate me...even though he very well may kill me, just for fun! Now I’ll have to find another doctor to tell this psycho babble to because you can’t get much more fucked up than…’

Steady hands braced his own arms at his sides, gently leading Will out of his frantic thoughts.

He opened his eyes to see Hannibal’s lithe figure standing before him, a strange expression on his face resembling a cross of concern and authority. 

The doctor gave a gentle tug upwards, guiding the smaller man to a standing position. 

Will’s towel was barely held in place as he stood, his head nodding downward onto Hannibal’s chest. The taller man inhaled deeply, smelling Graham’s hair, cataloguing the scent and feel of the coarse, feathery strands as he tilted the man’s face back up to his. The profiler felt the towel slip from his waist and made a half hearted attempt to catch it.

Hannibal caught his wrist and drew it to his mouth. 

Will felt warm lips suck gently on his pulse point, and his knees turned to water as the doctor’s tongue traced the veins under his translucent skin. 

Hannibal locked eyes with him, pressing their bodies flush to each other, his hand at the small of Graham’s back. Will could barely stand. He managed a whisper as he let the doctor trace the groove of his hip, grinding his cock against Hannibal’s.

“Do you see?...”

In answer, Hannibal hungrily groped at the globes of his ass. The gossamer thread of control Will maintained, nearly disintegrating as Lecter’s steady, gravely quiet movements were riling into that of animalistic. 

He held Will’s hips against himself, pinched at a nipple and grazed his teeth along his collar bone, nipping and suckling as he went, wanting to taste and worship every inch of him. 

Will felt the fine fabric of the doctor’s clothes scratch deliciously against his bare skin. He timidly let his hands rove over the broad expanse of Lecter’s shoulders, the strong tendons of his biceps and delicate pattern of his ribs. Muscle, sinew and bone. A strikingly powerful, elegant, deadly machine. 

The doctor suddenly pulled Graham’s head back, forcing his body to follow, stepping backward. The killer now studying him at arm's length. The younger man panted at the loss of heat and touch. Hannibal watched, hungrily drinking in the sight before him. His mind catalogued Will’s delicate calves, the scar across his abdomen; registered the pace of his breath, the scent of his sweat, and girth of his cock. 

He waited for the younger man to still. To focus. 

As Will calmed his breathing, Hannibal approached, carefully clamping a hand over Graham’s balls, making the younger man whine. 

He explored the man’s size; fingers brushing over his taint, back to his puckered hole. Chuckling darkly as Will fought to breathe. Hannibal gave the man’s cock an experimental squeeze, delighted to find his catch so responsive. 

Will was positively writhing. He twitched in pain and desire as the doctor began stroking his sensitive length. Drunk with the long awaited pleasure of contact. 

The doctor’s eyes flashed red, scenting the blood on the younger man’s cheek. He tilted his head and lapped his tongue over the open wound, the coppery taste making his veins thrum with lust.

Graham was lost in sensation. His hips thrusting upward into Lecter’s fist, his mind wondering if the taste of blood...his blood...would flip some sort of murderous switch in Hannibal’s brain. Part of him didn’t care; another even invited it. His heart then became frantically chaotic in his chest as the older man let go of his scalp, and moved to probe a finger between his cheeks. 

“Will,” Hannibal gasped, gently coaxing him over to the plush bench near the window. “Lie down for me.” His breath was ragged, but he maintained that painfully beautiful elegance Graham was so enraptured with.

The profiler, on shaky legs, situated himself flat against the cool cushions, hyper aware of Hannibal’s gaze.

The doctor watched as the smaller man lay, sprawled open and exposed. A feast of milky skin, trembling hips and twitching cock. The head was purpling and beginning to leak. 

“Bend, and open your legs, feet flat. Arms above your head,” Hannibal’s clipped accented commands sent electricity radiating from Will’s core. He screwed his eyes shut, reveling at his body being on display for the good doctor. His cock raging at the acknowledgment of his own unwaveringly willing submission. 

Hannibal knelt between Will’s knees, running his hands down the man’s sides, playfully lifting his hips, and licking a stripe up from the base of Graham’s cock. 

He gracefully removed his jacket, hanging it on a hook (conveniently) within reach, and folded his sleeves up to his elbows. Will heard him unzip his pants, and bent his head forward to get a look. 

A hand darted to his chest, forcefully shoving him back down, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

“Stay.” 

Hannibal’s tone was deadly. 

Graham shivered, his fingers working furiously to find an edge to grasp as strong hands held his hips, bruising. He felt a finger back at his hole, rhythmically pulsing. A second was added, this time, with a warm, slick substance, easing its passage. Will now remembered the doctor grabbing a bottle when he first confronted him. 

He could smell the doctor’s trademark aftershave as Hannibal suckled his earlobe, nipped at his jaw and mouthed over his throat. 

Three fingers now.   
Will’s legs began to tremble. His hips rocking steadily. His cock so painful he could barely think.

Hannibal removed his fingers, marveling at his catch. He began to slick himself, leaning in and biting down hard on a sensitive morsel of flesh between Will’s ribs. The man cried out beneath him; legs threatening to flail, one arm reflexively arching towards the pain of the doctor's mouth. Lecter caught, and brutally pinned it back in place. Will sobbed; a bruise now blushing along his side, jagged, flat bite marks in a corresponding semi circle. 

Hannibal roughly hitched Graham’s legs up over his shoulders aligning himself, one hand now reaching for Will’s throat. His fingers squeezed and pushed with incremental pressure, delighting in the quickened and labored pace of the younger man’s breathing. He pushed down harder, the head of his cock piecing the young man’s ring of muscle. 

Will couldn’t breathe. He heard blood whooshing in his ears, and his lungs starting to gasp for oxygen. This was it. This was his end. 

Instinctually, his hands came scrabbling down onto Hannibal’s forearm, scratching and clawing in a panic as the doctor held him there. 

An insect, pinned by a mad scientist. 

The doctor pushed through the second ring of muscle, impaling his prey to the hilt. The scratches stung on his arm, his veins on fire with need. He pulled out to the tip, watching his victim gasping. 

Will tried to steady himself. He could technically still breathe, but the threat was too great to allow him to do so properly and without panic. 

“Shhhh….” Hannibal coaxed. “Clear your mind, Will. Surrender.” His voice was like a magnet; a touchstone. Will let his head fall back, his grip loosening on the doctor’s arm. His body arched tight as a bow. 

“Good.” Hannibal whispered, his hand easing the pressure ever so slightly. His own body quaking at the effort to remain still. “Now, tell me what you want.”

Will drank in what little air he could. Submitting to his fate. His body pleading for release. Keeping his head back, as he was told, he found his voice.

“Destroy me.”

With that, Hannibal relinquished his hold on the man’s neck, moving both hands to his pelvis with an unmerciful grip, and thrust himself completely into Graham.

Will took an exquisitely deep breath just before crying out as the doctor’s pistoning hips gained speed; his own hands sweating against the underside of the bench. Lecter’s balls slapped against his ass, and the lewd, wet sounds echoed on the tiled walls. He felt the tall man crawl over him, almost possessively; one hand now grasping Will’s wrists, the other out to the side as though for balance. Chest to chest; the buttons of Lecter’s shirt sometimes grazing a nipple. 

In near complete agony, Hannibal’s strokes repeatedly pressed against the bundle of nerves at his core, making him see stars. 

The doctor began to shudder, his movements more erratic, causing Will to mewl. 

He crouched, hushing Will’s moans with a fierce kiss, pressing himself against Graham’s cock. 

The pressure of the older man’s body, combined with his movements tipped Will over the edge.

In shock, he reflexively bit down, drawing blood, sucking Lecter’s lip into his mouth. 

Hannibal’s hips stuttered, coming with a deep growl against Graham’s warm walls.   
The two collapsed; Lecter taking care not to completely crush Graham with his weight. 

Dazed, Hannibal sat up, one hand stroking Will’s abdomen, the other carding through his own hair. 

“After a bath, I insist on you using *my* aftershave.”


End file.
